Mithrin IV: Feeling You
by Geale
Summary: Follows the third part in this series! On their way back home, Legolas and a party of Mirkwood-elves seek shelter in Imladris. Old haunting memories must be erased. Aragorn/Legolas mild slash.


**The story: **This is the fourth part of the Mithrin series, following "I drench my blade in blood". It's another long one-shot set in Rivendell around seventy years before the War. Two years have passed since Legolas left Imladris to fight in his father's woods.

**Timeline: **This takes place in the winter of the Third Age (III) 2950 and in this year Aragorn is 19. He doesn't yet know of his ancestry as that is revealed to him in III 2951, which is now only a few months away. (The War of the Ring begins III 3018.)

**Warnings: **This is an Aragorn/Legolas pairing. The slash is still very mild, but at least, by now, something is happening. If this is not your cup of tea, there are plenty of other beverages to be found elsewhere. Or you could stay, put away your prejudices and discover something you might like?

If you've read the other parts in this series, you know this rant by heart but I'll say it one more time: The timeline is only here to provide us with a basic framework. It does not mean that all the facts in this story are correct.

**Disclaimer: **They all belong to Tolkien.

Enjoy!

**Feeling You**

**The hidden valley of Imladris, Hrívë, III 2950**

Ithil's gentle light is dancing upon the snow-covered treetops and sending silvery shadows chasing after the darkened gloom – or at least they try. The moonlight ripples across the white covers that have finally embedded our world in icy softness. Every small stream that we have passed so far has been frozen deep and there are but a few wild animals out in daytime, none during the night. There is no wind.

I ride on, numbly. Êl's gait is cautious but smooth and I only loosely hold the reins in one gloved hand. The other is resting on my thigh, covering the nearly healed wound that a black arrow bestowed upon me some weeks ago. It hurts not much and the angry red of irritated skin is slowly fading, but it is one more reminder of that which will never cease tormenting me: I have ripped the life from more creatures than I can even begin to count.

The sharp accurateness of that knowledge has somewhat dimmed and carries no longer the pain it did when I first encountered it. Yet, I cannot believe we are made for this; elves – maybe even men and dwarves – are no murderers by nature, we cherish life and all that is filled by it. How can death ever be preferred?

There is some stirring and shifting among us. The greatest part of this hunting company has never sought to tread this path through the woods, but instead spurred on to reach the Pass through the Mountains and arrive in Mirkwood as swift as possible. Imladris has never been the goal or desired destination for them. Maybe because they know not what that place would offer them: security, comfort and peace. It is no one's fault, simply a fact.

But we are in need of shelter now. We are weary and drained, wounds must be treated and hearts given the solace that they so badly wish for. We are no ordinary hunting party, searching for boars in the woods far from our home. No, our game is far fouler and far more dangerous.

I have led the company this far, down the slope and past the field in which I first laid eyes on you, but now I sink back into the group of elves and let others lead the way. There is no longer any doubt about the right road and I need to think. I desperately need to think. I need to find a solution before I ride through the gates and face whatever I shall face.

I am given little time though, for as my comrades sight your home, they pick up speed and I am forced to follow them. I have lost track of time – I do not know how late it is. Ithil begun circling the sky some time ago, but night falls rapidly in winter. Lights, small glowing lights, can be seen through the bare branches. They seep out into the gloom and send us all tidings of warmth and safety.

Then we are sighted and approached, by guards I have never seen before – or guards who have never chosen to reveal themselves. Quick words are exchanged but I hear them not as a dull ache begins to pound somewhere in my body. Amongst these elves, as Prince my rank is the highest, but they are also soldiers, and as such I am one of the least experienced and therefore I deem others may step forward. Word is sent to the House and we are given leave to enter the sanctuary.

We come to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, all of us surely suddenly struck by the realisation that there will be no orc-arrows aimed at us this night. A breath of uneasiness rushes through my kinsfolk in this place; Mirkwood-elves are not used to seeking refuge, even if it sometimes would do us good, undoubtedly.

At first I see nothing moving, nothing that disturbs the soft whiteness and the gleam of moonlight spreading across it. Then, a dark-cloaked figure emerges from the trees and before I have time to think all of those thoughts I feel are crowding my mind, I understand that it is you who are fighting to find a way through the deep snow.

Your coat is long and you are hooded. I would recognise you anywhere and in any fashion.

You notice our presence – I can see it in the way you move. Your shoulders stiffen and you raise your head a little. Slowly, slowly you turn around and I will my eyes to close, but they do not. Were I not so tired, I would urge Êl to run – nay, fly – out of here. I would press him on, lead him through the High Pass even though nothing could grieve me more, I would never look back.

For as you turn around – and you will wear a breath-taking expression of surprise and confusion, I know that – the image of your face will bring back memories too cruel for my soul to handle.

_Estel._

What wicked game is playing on my senses and what evil power has linked the beauty of your face with the hideous scenes that haunt my memory? Why is it that I see you during every stab my knife carries out, and with every arrow my bow lets loose?

You push your hood back and there is a curious light in your face. You must see the Captain of our company first, for he is closest to you. Your eyes fly over us, they roam over our forms and I avoid them. Elbereth knows it pains me, but I distance myself from you by calling my energy inwards. I keep my gaze trained on the top of your head where the dark hair is only vaguely visible beneath the hood.

Then, as if released from unseen restraints, you burst forward and savagely push through the snow. Faron, our Captain, straightens his back and our plea for shelter is offered unto you. I forbid my ears to hear your voice for I will not tint that too with the darkness that has found me, but I see you nodding and saying something in return.

"We have ridden long and hard. And some of us are wounded." Faron's voice is entwined with the tone of command even though he is really only wishing for your father to take us in.

'Wounded.'

Your eyes flee his face and I feel them settling on me. Their grey heaviness is weighing me down and it is ironic how I would have cherished that, only two years ago. They are demanding my attention and I fight them despite the screaming of my heart. The breath in my body grows thinner and yet it fills my entire being, threatening to break my body with its building force.

Somewhere, on the edge of my vision, I see the front door opening and a figure hastening towards us atop the snow. I recognise Glorfindel´s blond hair glimmering in the moonlight but I take no greater notice for I am losing the battle with your existence. Faron may say whatever he likes – you will not listen. Or if you will, your eyes will still be upon me, dragging my own ones closer and closer to your face.

In a last, desperate attempt from my body to keep me away from you, the wound in my thigh begins to throb with a slow but steady rhythm. Instinctively I press my palm flat against it in a motion that does not ease the pain but gives me something to focus on.

A treachery.

As soon as I let my defences down, I am drawn to you as if you were the very jewel of this world.

And I could never see how you are not.

Uncertainty. Is that what I see in your eyes, or is that what is in me?

I am swallowed by a sea of grey but I do not lose breath or consciousness. You raise me up and hold me gently above the surface, high enough so that I might breathe and so prolong my stay in your embrace.

For the very first time, you search me thoroughly. The longer I yield to you, the more anxiety creeps into your being and in the way you hold my gaze. I am not open to you this time. Not tonight.

Estel, do you know how tired I am?

Glorfindel has reached us and has already spoken with Faron. He drags my eyes away from you, causing a veil to fall across your face. Distantly I hear the ancient elf-lord, my friend, questioning me, coaxing me to tell him of our hunt and the wounds – my wounds.

I slip from Êl's back and try to land as lightly on the snow as I might, with my hand still clasped to my thigh. I hear myself speaking and I must make sense for Glorfindel is nodding and humming, at times turning away from me to give brusque orders to the stable-grooms that have come to lead our horses away.

Your eyes are piercing me from any angle available to them, and yet again this new lesson is repeated to me: there are wounds that run deeper and are far worse than the ones violating your flesh.

o.O.o

My room is dark. The thick curtains are making sure that no wintry winds conquer the warmth incessantly escaping the glowing embers in the fire-place. I snuggle deeper into the blankets and pillows, making sure I stay on my right side so that no pressure further upsets the arrow-wound. Lord Elrond's herbal poultice is stinging faintly and it keeps me awake. Or so I like to think.

He treated me quickly, more intent on seeing me to bed and saying that he would check the bandages again in the daylight. His face was tired and drawn, but his smile as warm as ever, and his fatherly embrace sincere. Now, I am alone again, in my usual room, as Ithil is gracing the black sky outside.

I slip away gradually, now and then pulled back to awareness by a particularly sharp stinging or a stray thought I will not name.

I do not know for how long I have been drifting when there is a soft knock on my door. Startled out of my reverie, I need a moment to focus my eyes and I listen intently, wandering if what I heard really belonged to a dream already forgotten.

Then, again, there is a soft knock and I push aside the blankets and rise to my feet, grateful for the thick rug covering the floor. My shirt falls around me as I pad over to the door and open it cautiously.

I cannot say what I would have expected if I had taken the time to consider it first. The hallway is as dark as my room as all the window-openings are covered by shielding fabrics. However, I need no light to know who is standing before me.

You are a dark shape in the night, but you are no vicious foe.

I can tell you have grown. All too often I have recalled our conversation two suns ago, when you said you will come of age at twenty. It cannot be long now, and so I imagine that this is as tall as you will get. It is an appropriate height for a man, I decide. Matching my own.

Your shoulders have broadened which is something more easily sensed now without all the layers of clothing you wore in the courtyard. And is that your hair? Blinking in the darkness, I can make it out falling past your shoulders, still wavy and – I suspect – still unruly. It will never be as long as mine, I find myself thinking, and mine is not even that long. For practical reasons it reaches only halfway down my back. You are different.

I can barely hear your breathing, but it must be there: the soft sounds of your rising and falling chest. You have sought my company, yet you offer silence.

Seemingly without reason, a shiver takes hold of my body and runs through it. I cannot see your face in the darkness and for an elf with good sight that is disturbing. Even so, I find it captivating and… then there is another feeling that scares me a little.

_What is this? Why have you come?_

I am not sure I can welcome you.

You must have detected my hesitation for a small sigh escapes you, followed by a sharply drawn, quick breath.

My lips have gone dry and I lick them as I try to find some words that may urge you to reveal your errand. Dawn cannot be far away.

As it is, I am only capable of doing one thing.

My voice is hardly nothing more than a whisper. "Estel?"

Your name I have said over and over again, to myself, to the stars and to the memory of you.

You swallow. The heat that radiates from your body is, to me, more nourishing than any warmth provided by the embers.

A longing awakens within me. There is something calling to me from very far away. Still there is no distance. A part of me is reaching for a swift-fleeing idea, some kind of understanding, of insight that not only you are different, but that I am too. That we are, that this is. I feel Eä itself shift around me and I know that something has changed.

Your name slips from my lips once more and floats before you.

_Estel._

You.

And then I know.

"I will not stay for many nights."

There is a need to tell you this. For some inexplicable reason you must understand – it is vital.

You meet my words with silence and my stomach fills with what I before naively named 'dread'. How could I not have noticed the tingle that, into it, is woven with the singing silver thread that is a direct link to your eyes?

I hear your breathing now. Shallow, but controlled. Some unknown energy is flowing from you. It is hovering on the edge of changing into another type, one that is equally puzzling, but you hold back and remain steady.

"Legolas."

A breathless sigh is my name upon your lips, and then you turn around and dash from me into the darkness of the hallway.

I close my door.

Arda is spinning and swirling and I follow freely.

I lean against the wood, feeling the circles of time settle down around me. Fate has never before seemed like such a great force. It has never before been such a blessing.

My name spoken by you is your gift to me this night. As I offered you yours.

Claim it if you will, or claim mine, for I belong to you.

o.O.o

One day, yesterday, passed during which I saw you not at all. This morning brings snow-filled clouds that are slowly but surely filling the sky and hiding the bright blue behind them. I dress in warm clothes, glad that the wound is healing swiftly beneath the bandages and seems not to be further disturbed by my covering it up.

I am… at loss.

I shall be leaving tomorrow as Faron wisely pointed out that my father undoubtedly will want whatever news we can bring him. I resign to this for I am aware of the necessity of our hurried return. Yet… nor Faron, nor my father knows of what my heart speaks. Even I cannot say for certain.

What do you want me to do?

Lord Elrond alone is waiting for me at the table in the dining hall and he greets me with a smile as I enter. Two large fires are keeping the chill at bay and several lamps are lit despite the early hour.

"Good morning, Legolas. Have you slept well?"

I incline my head and offer him a smile of my own. "Yes, thank you."

"Good. Come, will you not have some breakfast? Does your wound trouble you?"

"No, not at all."

I walk over to the table and pull out the chair next to his. As I sit down, he inspects the tea and apparently he finds it still warm for he pours me a cup. I wrap my fingers around it, revelling in the warmth as I feel my hold on reality slip away and leave me lost in what seems to me now only a dream.

Elrond's gentle touch to my arm brings me back. In his expression there is a seriousness that is not erased by his smile.

"_Tithen pen…"_

He sighs. I hold my tongue for I sense there are some thoughts on his mind he finds hard to word.

"Legolas, I wish these times were more joyous," he begins, a distant but very real pain in his voice. "For you, and all my children, I wish naught but peace. Even so, ere the next year is ended, I believe we shall have met with much that is, at present, unknown to us."

"It is not strange that it should be so," I say quietly. I have for myself seen Mirkwood plagued by spiders and orcs, and only the Valar know what else might await us in the future.

He nods and I drink my tea, wondering where this conversation is headed.

"You must understand, _ion nin_, that some things must change. Hidden, these changes may be to others, but nevertheless they are important. Revelations also…" He loses his words to the morning, and it takes him some time to reclaim them. "Even that which has only just begun must transform."

His eyes catches mine and his gaze is firm.

"It does not, however, mean that it will lose its value. It simply… changes."

"I am not sure I understand?" It is the truth. Lord Elrond rarely speaks of such profound matters without reason, but this time I do not follow him.

"Maybe you will, another day."Apparently reluctant to explain his words, he smiles instead. "I must return to the Healing Wing. Some of those wounds need good supervision. "

"But you can heal them?"

He rises to his feet and casts a glance out through one of the unveiled window-openings. "Yes, your kinsfolk shall be sore and may have to ride at lesser speed, but they will be fine."

"_Le hannon, Elrond."_

His hand lands on my shoulder and his eyes are filled with a mixture of love and sorrow. "There is no need to thank me Legolas, you know so. Only… remember what I said, even if you do not see my meaning in this hour."

I watch as your father exits the dining hall with his robes flowing behind him. A long sigh I do not know from whence it comes escapes me and outside, the first snowflakes begin to fall softly to the ground.

A sudden desire to see more of the snow and the sky takes hold of me, and I pick up some buttered bread and an apple and head for my room. Swathing myself in a warm robe Elrond said he would not see me outdoors without, I eat as I walk, severely lacking the patience to stay seated.

The snow lies almost undisturbed at my feet as not many of the Imladris household have made it into the gardens yet this day. There is no wind messing up the dance of the flying snowflakes and so they can land upon my clothes in whichever way they like. I let my feet lead me without interfering with their chosen path. After a while I notice that I am walking towards the clearing in which I spent some precious time with you two years ago, and I stop.

It lies just ahead of me, the small, secluded path all but hidden by the snowy branches and shrubs. Not far from here we watched the stars together, and you admitted to your fear of them… The small lantern, sending forth its humble light into the darkness of the autumn evening – the earth drenched from previous rainfalls. And your eyes locking with mine, more beautiful than the stars themselves…

Then with force another image enters my mind. A wicked laughter is attacking me and conquering my senses, choking me until I truly believe that I shall die. Blades and arrowheads, drenched in mingled blood – Orc and Eldar – savagely penetrates any flesh it can find, and screams are directed at the distant sky, or into the numb earth. I madly stab and thrash, and scream myself, and I am constantly aware of the insistent voice within, ceaselessly repeating that if I die this night, I will never see you again.

Can you understand, Estel, why I am no longer certain that I can distinguish you from that which I must kill?

There is no warning.

"Legolas?"

You have come up to stand behind me. If it is by chance that you have chosen the same path, or if you saw me walking through the gardens, I cannot say, but your presence is more than real. It is the very epitome of existence.

"Is all well?"

"Yes."

_No._

I turn around to face you. The snow is tangling in your dark locks, melting only when it comes close enough to your skin to be affected by your body heat. Your lips are red and so are your cheeks. In the bright white light of this winter day, your grey eyes are shining. You wear the same dark coat as before, an odd creation that highlights the elvish undertones in your human form. Your carrying a load of sticks, twigs and chopped dry branches, perhaps intended for a small fire. Seeing you so clearly again makes me think that your visit to my door two nights ago was but a vision created by the shadows of night.

"Are you walking this way?"

I cast a quick and uncertain glance over my shoulder – as if I had a choice.

"I am," my heart tells my tongue to say.

"May I join you?" Your voice holds eagerness now, endearingly betraying your young age.

"Of course."

We make for the small clearing and I wish my feet would make a greater impact on the snow, for you are plodding through the white sea surrounding us with some trouble. Thoughts are tumbling over each other in my head, all of them eager to win over the others. I wonder if what I see when I see you is more of my own making than actual truth. Maybe it is so because I so fervently recalled the memory of your face when I needed it the most, after the first killing I carried out in my father's woods? If it is so, it is I who have tinted your beauty and so I should be the one to restore its magnificence.

Upon entering the clearing I stop and let you pass ahead of me. You come to a rest, boots buried deep in the snow, not far from me.

"Even the Bruinen is partly frozen this year," you say, turning to face me. "I saw it yesterday for I was at the Ford, partaking in the deliveries of food sent to the outer realms. I met with Elladan and Elrohir also…"

It is not often I have heard you begin a conversation so effortlessly and it makes me smile.

"How are your brothers?"

"They seemed fine. They are scouting with the rangers, but came back briefly for some more provisions. _Ada _misses them, but he is used to it by now."

"Yes," I nod, lowering my gaze to the ground. "It is so."

A pause.

"Did you…" You are hesitating. "I mean, when you came back to Mirkwood… did you… Were you…"

All of it rushes over me with a horrible force and at a terrible pace: our too-soon parting here in your father's dwelling-place, the ride back to my own home, the darkness of the night enfolding me and the other elves amongst the trees… the laughter, his smell, his nose, no more than shreds, his blood wetting my clothes… The indescribable terror of dying at his hands, mercilessly and ruthlessly, to his joy.

"Yes."

I raise my eyes to yours and the openness and the fear in them pushes the unspoken words within me into motion.

"I have killed so many times it burns my soul. Sometimes I know not how I ever could enjoy the sunlight again."

"But you must be. You must be happy again, Legolas!"

The unexpected urgency in your voice startles me and momentarily I lose track of my words. Your face is alight with concern and you, still laden with twigs and sticks, take a step towards me. Little by little, your booted feet are leaving a patchwork of deep hollows and small new built mounds in the snow.

"I could not bear to see you _un_happy."

I force myself to smile for you, and for both of us I make up an impossible fantasy.

"Maybe some day soon neither I, nor your brothers will have to fight?"

You do not believe me, but you smile nonetheless. Then a thoughtful expression passes over your features.

"There will be another member of my family arriving in Imladris when winter ends. _Ada _says that my sister – Arwen – will return from Lothlórien where she has been staying for many a year." You pause. "I have never met her."

I nod slowly. Thranduil's court receives not plenty of messages from the Lady of the Golden Wood, but I seem to remember _adar_ mentioning something about Elrond's daughter visiting there, a long time ago it is now.

"They say she is very beautiful." Your eyes have strayed to the southeast as if you could truly see Lórien, and Arwen, far away in the white landscape spreading before us.

At these, your words, a sinking feeling travels through my stomach. I swallow. "They say that at the birth of Lady Arwen, the beauty of Lúthien came once more upon Arda." And then I add, without thinking, or as if overtaken by some power, "The elf who was loved by a mortal."

An icy cold tingling punctures my heart and stirs up a dormant fear I was not aware I harboured. I try to breathe properly, but no air will aid me.

"I am mortal."

Your soft-spoken words hang in the space between us. As the snowfall grows heavier I wish I had said nothing at all. Everything except the white, falling flakes seems to stand frozen around me, which is not far from the truth. It is as if the world has suddenly fallen asleep, leaving only me and the snowflakes awake.

"I know." There is despair in my whisper and I pray you do not hear it.

As the first notes of a mourning song begin to hum in my soul, you bend down to the ground and carefully set aside your burden by your feet. Then you straighten and take a few more cautious steps, coming to stand right in front of me.

Your eyes fall to one of my hands, resting by my side. "May I?"

I bow my head, uncertain of what I am allowing you to do. But it is now almost five years ago I first realised I would yield to you for nothing.

With utmost care, you slip the gloves off your hands and store them in your pocket. Then you reach down, gradually closing the distance between us. I watch the progress your naked hand is making towards my own gloved one avidly, barely daring to breathe and sensing that the world is closing in on us here in the clearing. Your fingers hover beside my hand for a moment before you slide your fingers around it and equally slowly bring it up to your chest. The rest of me follows, if only in mind and spirit.

A determined expression is in your features as you slip off my glove too and you open your mouth to breathe as your fingertips gently sweep over my paler skin. You are still warm, despite the falling snow and the cold air. Your palm meets mine and the soft pressure against my open hand dissolves me and I merge with the frozen Bruinen and the dizzying radiance of Anor behind the clouds.

"It is the first time I touch you," you whisper with traces of a small smile playing in the corners of you lips.

_How well I know that._

The song of loss and mourning is transforming. It is growing into something else, a melody so much fairer and brighter it has no equal.

I see you as you come even closer but I am too overwhelmed to understand. The sparkle of two orbs of stormy grey is what I glimpse before you brush your lips against mine and claim my soul.

It is yours.

Your lips are colder than your hand, but I warm them for you by pressing my own mouth to yours and cherishing the softness you are offering. My eyes closed at some point but I would have seen nothing had they been open; your touch to my hand and my mouth is all that I am aware of in this moment.

When you draw away, it is only to lean your forehead against mine, as if you wish to maintain this double contact in any way possible. We breathe each other's air that floats between our faces and forms one single white and misty cloud. Your voice is barely audible when you speak.

"The mortal fell in love with the elf." A faint colour rises in your cheeks but your eyes are filled with wonder.

"As the elf loves the mortal." I smile faintly, not yet able to take in all that this day has brought me.

Your hand closes around mine in a firm grip. "I want you to be happy, Legolas," you say, a little stronger now.

"How could I not be, with you?" I ask, feeling my smile deepen by itself as a certainty wells up inside of me.

Your exposed skin is rapidly cooling and it is with great reluctance that I pull away from you and insist we should return to the house. You pick up your heap of sticks and in silence we make our way back to the warmth of your father's home. So very different is my journey back! My mind is still, calm and peaceful – even though I, if I had known beforehand, would have thought it would be swarming with rushed thoughts and worries. I give myself over to the day cradling us, only able put place my faith in the Valar and trust they know what they are doing.

I am deeply, deeply thankful.

However, as soon as we have stepped through the front door, Faron appears in a doorway.

"Prince Legolas, I have been waiting for you. There is much to discuss before our return to Mirkwood tomorrow." He takes no notice of you, only gives a curt nod in my direction. "I would very much appreciate if you would join me and the rest of our company in here."

Disappointment washes over me forcefully and I can see clearly how it takes hold of you too. You shrink back against the wall and give me a weak half-smile that does not connect with your eyes.

"Prince Legolas?"

I hold your gaze for a few more seconds, trying to pour all of my feelings into that look, then I must turn away.

"I will join you."

I toe off my boots, leave them to dry at the door and choose a pair of soft slippers from the stand to my left, providing all visitors with temporary footwear. To any other Mirkwood-elf I look undressed, but I could not mind any less. In a moment, you too, will wear slippers and that is all I care about.

o.O.o

The afternoon seemed longer than it could possibly have been. Evening fell over the valley and still I was listening to my fellow soldiers making plans for the next day. Restlessness grasped me long before supper and it truly seemed like I would never be released.

Supper was torture. Never before had I believed that I would judge an evening in Imladris as such, but my seat was among the party from Mirkwood, and you were seated far down the table. I would have looked at you, and only you, during the entire meal, but I could not, as I hope you understand.

Now I am in my room, packing what little I have brought and going through my stash of arrows – again.

Clouds still cover the sky behind my curtain so I do not miss out on Ithil's glow and the glimmering of the stars.

You disappeared so quickly after supper. When I was free to see you again.

I miss you.

I will not hunt after you if you do not desire my company, but you should know that occasionally my lips tingle and across my hand sweeps a warm sensation carrying a hint of you.

Lord Elrond and Glorfindel were, when I left them after supper, still speaking with Faron. Tomorrow I shall take my leave of them once more, and only the Gods know what more must remain behind.

It is not very late and I could probably still join them, but I stay in here, tending to the fire and doing my very best to hold back the fears that threaten to creep forward. I arrange my riding clothes and my quiver on a chair. I place my long knife on top of the pile.

It is then that I am interrupted by a low knock on the door. Briefly I hesitate, but hope is too strong a power to deny. With my breath caught in my throat I go to open.

And there you are, already dressed in a nightshirt and carrying my boots I left by the door earlier.

"I thought you may want these back." You hold them out to me with a shy smile.

"Thank you," I smile also and accept them into my own hand. "I completely forgot about it."

"I noticed." A gleam in the grey.

"Estel…" I bite my lip, unsure of what comes now. "Will you come in?"

You look like you are pondering my offer very intently, but finally you nod and I step aside and let you enter. Your bare feet seek out the rug as I place the boots by the chair already laden with my other belongings.

"You are leaving tomorrow morning."

Yes, I am.

"I do not wish to leave." I turn to you and meet your eyes that are calling to me so strongly.

"I do not wish for you to leave either."

Your voice lowers when you are treading unknown ground. It stirs a type of energy in my heart that wills me to embrace you and assure you that you could not be more in the right.

The eager flames in the fire-place are calming down and dimming the light in the room. Your dark hair catches some of it and plays with it lazily. I can hear my own breathing so loudly that the sound of it must carry as far as the sea and beyond. I mean to say something but you speak before I have time to choose my words.

"May I stay the night with you, Legolas?"

I did not dare to ask.

"You may."

A smile grows on my lips as I walk over to where you are standing, and it brings forth an almost identical replica of the grin I have, on rare but treasured occasions, been presented. I remove my second pair of boots, but these I do not bother to put away. My shirt and my leggings I leave on as they are comfortable enough to sleep in and not much soiled. I reach up to untie the braids that hold my hair in place, but your hands shoot up and land there instead.

"Let me."

Your fingers could probably work swifter, but you take your time undoing the braids while that light of wonder graces your eyes. Your own hair falls freely around your shoulders and I run my fingers through it and experience a whole new texture. Here, in the warmth of the house I can vaguely smell your scent. Herbs, I detect, which must come from the vast amount of time you spend in the Healing Wing with Elrond. There is also something else, something wilder, but so far I have no name for it.

Your arms fall to your sides when you are finished. I take you by the hand and lead you to the bed. Pushing back the covers, I sink down upon it, suddenly struck by this reality I am living in this very moment. You sink down beside me and we sit in silence for awhile.

Outside, the snow will still be falling as you lean closer and place a kiss on my cheek. And then all seems so very simple. We ease down and I roll onto my right side even though the arrow-wound does not pain me any longer. You mimic my action and a feeling of blessed perfection warms my heart as you spoon up behind me and carefully wind an arm around my waist. I pull the blankets over us and your nose buries deep into my hair.

"_Losto mae, Legolas."_

As you drift off to sleep, I lay awake and marvel at the light that holds power over the dark, and the nightmares that become the sweetest of dreams.

**Fin**

**Translations:**

Hrívë – the season of winter (Reckoning of Rivendell)

Êl – star

Faron – a male hunter

_adar_ – father

_ada_ – dad/daddy

_tithen_ _pen_ – little one

_ion_ _nin_ – my son

_le hannon_ – thank you

_losto_ _mae_ – sleep well

Anor – the elvish name for the sun

Ithil – the moon

Arda – the World

Eä – the Universe


End file.
